


From the Beginning

by notjustmom



Series: Doodahs and Whatnots [42]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-02 03:29:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: Inspired by the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald, “They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered." From This Side of Paradise.





	1. Chapter 1

If you ask anyone who knows them, their eyes might glitter a bit, and they'll clear their throat and whisper, "I always knew, from the beginning. That very first day. It just took time for them to understand." And they will get on with their work or excuse themselves to walk out of the room, or take a sip of their pint, or nod and tell you a story. One of those stories that could only happen to the two of them.

 

It started simply enough.

 

A chance meeting on a chilly day in January, an ordinary day, and yet, not. A day when John closed the drawer to his desk quietly, then pulled on a jacket, and picked up his walking stick. He never knew why he chose that day to emerge into the world, into the city he had once loved, but knew he couldn't afford, and yet, he did. He could have walked past his former colleague, but that would have been rude, and the one thing he had left was his promise to his mum, that he would always,'mind his manners.' He wasn't sure if that entered into the thinking, if he were ever asked to explain how he found himself less than twenty minutes later offering his phone to a complete stranger, a stranger who knew him, or knew enough to stun him into astonishment. He couldn't remember the last time he had been truly astonished. But when the long fingers brushed his smaller ones, as he took the offered phone, John felt a surge of need that he couldn't ever remember feeling before. 

He hadn't ever needed anyone before, not in that way, not that he could put into words what that way was precisely, but he knew, from that moment that he would follow the madman to the ends of the earth, to hell and back if necessary. He just didn't know how very close he would come.

 

Sherlock, being Sherlock, barely acknowledged the man's entrance into the lab at first, but took one more glance at him, and made some quick observations; of course, the living are always a bit trickier, the dead don't respond to being prodded and poked, metaphorically or otherwise. People... always a puzzle, living or dead, but this, this proud, damaged soldier, awakened something in him, a need to protect? No. Yes. But it ran deeper and stronger in him, he couldn't quite define it, but he understood at second glance that he needed the man who met his arrogance with a half-smile, and knew that half-smile meant danger. Dangerous. Yes, he needed the smaller, prickly man, more than he ever needed a hit or a drag on a cigarette, and knew once he got home, both stashes would be binned, and his life would begin again.

"The address is 221B Baker Street, the name is Sherlock Holmes."

It was that simple, and that complicated.


	2. Chapter 2

"We still have time, we could just slip out the back door -" Sherlock's words were hushed with a single look.

"Do you know how long they have waited?"

"So, we are doing this for them?" Sherlock thought about crossing his arms, but narrowed his eyes instead, as he didn't want to ruin the suit.

"Idiot. We're doing this for them and me, and you. You. I want to do this for you, I want them to see you as I see you."

"How do you see me, John?"

 

On the second day of their co-habitation, Sherlock clogged the pipes for the bathtub with - John never asked, just shook his head and went to plug in the kettle, already accustomed to whatever lunacy his flat mate could come up with. Then he dragged John out to his favorite Indian place, speaking perfect Tamil, at least that's what he thought it was, but forgot the moment the owner brought out dish after dish of the most fragrant food he'd ever smelled in his life. Perhaps it was then that he fell in love, no, not love, that was the problem wasn't it? He'd never had so many warring feelings about anyone, within a few hours of their meeting, his limp had disappeared, his hand no longer trembled, as he was never bored... and then he'd go off and... well, you know, blow something up in the microwave, "for a case, John; for science, John..." But in the end, John knew he could never see himself with anyone but the madman with the wild curls.

 

"You are love, my heart walking around - damn it, Sherlock. The day we met - something shattered in me, just broke wide open and today, I want to tell you, tell them - please? Just a few minutes, and then we can dance and have cake -"

"Cake, and then we can leave?"

"Then we can leave."

 

It shouldn't have taken Sherlock so long, he had grown accustomed to John's presence, that was all. At first. Then he realised the body parts in the fridge, the freezer and the microwave, and the clogged pipes weren't scaring him off. Or the screeching violin in the wee hours, perhaps it was because he balanced all that out with the soft lullabies and the apology dinners in the hole-in-the-wall dives that always served the best food. He didn't truly know what John was to him until John was knocked out on that one case. He realised he was alone when he didn't hear John's steps running behind him, and he stopped, and turned back to find John flat on his back, not moving. For one split second, he swore he stopped breathing when he thought he was dead, then shook himself out of it and ran over to his - his John. That was all it took, a simple concussion, that finally knocked some sense into him.

 

"Ready, then?" John whispered.

Sherlock brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed their knuckles then nodded. "Ready."


	3. Chapter 3

Their fingers still entwined, they walked into the sanctuary, and a hush fell over the room. Sherlock's footsteps faltered slightly, as heads turned to watch them make their way towards the altar. John paused, then squeezed Sherlock's fingers, waiting long enough to feel the pressure returned, and then resumed walking. Nerves? Possibly. Cold feet? No. Focus on John, John is why he was here, it's for John. He looked at the flowers, not a bit of lilac, or yellow. Nothing to remind him, and yet. Damn. Breathe. Another squeeze of his fingers and they were there, standing together, John was looking up into his eyes, essentially breathing for them both. Words, words were expected. 

No, John was speaking. To him. Telling him.

"Sherlock. I know we don't need all this, and that I've been here, well, not here, here, before - sorry." Sherlock winked at him and smiled, making John's eyes twinkle in return. "Right. I'm standing here today, because I've been an idiot, and I wanted to make sure everyone knows I'm no longer an idiot, at least not about you, not about how I feel about you."

Sherlock ignored the wave of 'awwww' that crashed over them and held onto John's hand a bit tighter.

"Today, we start over, begin again. We always seem to be doing that. I promise you, Sherlock, that this is the last time, no more sad stories for us." John's breath caught and Sherlock let go of his hand so he could use his hand to brush away the single tear that fell down his cheek.

"I know, John," Sherlock whispered. "I know." He cleared his throat and looked out over the rows of people watching, then turned back to face John. "I'm standing here, in a tie and cufflinks, which everyone knows I don't wear, and this ridiculous suit, just so I can tell you, and everyone within listening distance, that I love you and swear to you that I will spend the rest of my life by your side, hopefully not driving you too crazy in the process." He grinned as he heard Molly's unmistakable giggle... well, snort, if he were honest, from somewhere in the first two rows. He would find her later.

"Rings," Lestrade muttered at his ear.

"Right. John. I give you this ring as a symbol of everything I am, everything I hope to be, someone who deserves to - damn. Before I met you, I never thought of myself as someone who could love and be loved, and you have proven me wrong, John, time after time. I hope when you look at this ring, you will know how truly loved you are." He slid the ring onto John's finger and pressed a kiss over it, his eyes never leaving John's.

John took the ring from Mike's hand and nodded at Sherlock as he took his hand and pushed the ring carefully onto his finger. "I give you this ring as a symbol of my love for you, the love that belonged to you always, I'm just sorry it took me so long -"

The celebrant, on a signal from Lestrade nodded and she smiled at the two men who had lost the ability to speak. "I now pronounce you husbands, you may now - never mind." She stepped aside as Sherlock had already pulled John closer and had forgotten that anyone else was in the room. The sanctuary cleared quickly, leaving the two of them alone.

"We should..." John mumbled against Sherlock's chest.

"Yeah, I know, dancing, mingling and cake." He paused and pulled John closer, sighing into his hair. "I was wrong."

"About?"

"I remember Mrs. Hudson telling me once that marriage changes a person. I didn't believe her, and I can't tell you what it is precisely that's different about me, about you, us, but, I was so wrong, John."

John pulled back and looked into Sherlock's eyes, then shook his head. "The only thing different about you is that you never have to question my love again, because you can look at your hand and see the ring that I put there, but, I hope you will always know, just by looking into my eyes. You, my beautiful man, haven't changed. I know, because you've always looked at me the way you are looking at me now, with the same light in your eyes. Now, you promised me a dance, a bit of mingling..."

"And cake."

John laughed as he took Sherlock by the hand, and pulled him gently towards the door. "Yes, love, cake. All the cake you can handle."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more fluff

They took the floor, and the room hushed, save for the music that came from an old album on an even older turntable. Another thing he had to thank Greg for, Sherlock thought to himself as the music began to play, the first song John ever played for him:

 

"What would you think if I sang out of tune?  
Would you stand up and walk out on me?  
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song  
And I'll try not to sing out of key

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends  
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends  
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends

What do I do when my love is away?  
Does it worry you to be alone?  
How do I feel by the end of the day?  
Are you sad because you're on your own..."*

 

He had learned long ago that waltzes weren't John's thing; the song that had soothed him the most when the nightmares hit a couple days after he moved into Baker Street was a bit of 'Blackbird', one of the first songs he ever played as a child. Thinking back, he realised he had learned it to annoy Mycroft, but he soon fell in love with the Beatles, then deleted them until he met John, and relearned them all over again. He held John tighter in his arms, and closed his eyes. Soon all he could hear was John's heartbeat in rhythm with his own, all he could feel was John's silvering hair tickling his chin, and he found he didn't care when the song changed and people flooded the dance floor, all he cared about was -

 

"Time for mingling, love."

"Must we?"

"Hmm... sooner we mingle... sooner we..."

"Right. Just one more song?"

John settled once more into his arms and Sherlock opened his eyes, to watch everyone around them, dancing, laughing and paying them very little attention. That this day finally came to be made him catch his breath, until he saw Lestrade look away from Molly for a moment, and he nodded in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock returned the nod, then pressed a kiss into John's hair and whispered, "ready to mingle, when you are."

"In a minute, hmmm?"

"Yeah. Not going anywhere, John. Not anywhere without you, promise."

"That's good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * from "With a Little Help from My Friends" written by Lennon-McCartney


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a teeny bit of an epilogue...

Of course, once the cake was mostly dispatched, Sherlock took John by the hand and led him back to the dance floor, where they spent the rest of the night, and into the early morning hours, oblivious to everyone and everything else around them, not even caring when the music was packed away and the guests began to leave.

"We should go home," John muttered with a yawn as he leaned into Sherlock.

Sherlock looked around him, then down at John in his arms and shrugged, "just one more dance, John?"

John nodded then mumbled, "one more dance, love."


End file.
